


good impressions

by jabamis



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jabamis/pseuds/jabamis
Summary: “Oh,” the other man says, eyes moving up and down Armin’s form (which makes him feel incredibly self-conscious, because this guy has a full six-pack of abs on display) before confusion fully rises on his face. “You’re not Mikasa.”Armin doesn’t know who Mikasa is. He doesn’t even have the cognitive ability at the moment to think about who Mikasa may be, because he’s now incredibly aware of the fact that he has been single for a long time and this guy ishot.—Eremin Week Day 6: Shirtless
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Comments: 8
Kudos: 187
Collections: Twitter Eremin Week 2021





	good impressions

**Author's Note:**

> eremin week might be over but not for me because the law does not apply to me

It’s not all that rare for people to come and go from the apartment complex. Only a mile or so out from campus, it was a common place for students to go to get halfway decent housing for a price that wasn’t too terrible. It was, however, a little odd for someone to move in mid-semester. People were set in their classes by that point. However, the end of February had the end of the hallway jam-packed with cardboard boxes brought in from the snow, a few crushed around the edges from what Armin presumed was their carriers slipping and falling on the ice on the stairs outside.

Armin was thrilled at the prospect. It wasn’t like he was close with everyone in the building, but considering they were all in the same age range, the new residents were a potential friend for him to make. He needed to make a good impression in a way that wouldn’t make him seem ridiculous. The problem, however, was his tendency to be overbearing— or so Annie has lovingly told him several times in the past.

“If you just go randomly knocking on the door just to say, ‘Hey, my name’s Armin, nice to meet you,’ they’re gonna think you’re a nerd,” she said, and Armin had to bite back an insult about how she wasn’t all that great either because of the way she was chewing with mouthfuls of donut in her mouth because he would kind of be proving her point if he said that. “You should do something else. Have an excuse to go over there. Make peanut butter cookies or something and give them to them.”

Well, there was an idea. “Oh, because if I bake something, then they’ll have to come return the dishes...and then we could be friends from there! It’d be more natural like that. That’s a good idea. But peanut butter cookies, though…” He glanced up from his laptop to meet Annie’s eyes, but she glanced away quickly, tearing off another bite from the donut. There were crumbs at the corners of her mouth. “You _love_ peanut butter cookies, Annie. You can’t just tell me to make what you like so you can steal—”

“Well, do you know what they like? No,” she interjected, seemingly regaining her lost composure (miniscule to everyone else, but Armin knows how Annie lies by this point in time) and staring him down. “You’re taking the same risk no matter what you make. So at least make something that I can eat if they don’t like them. Reduces waste.”

She had a crazy knack for making things go in her favor. “Fine,” he said, sighing. “Let’s just hope they’re not allergic to peanuts. That would be so embarrassing.”

“For you,” she said, popping the last bite of her dessert into her mouth. “Not for me.”

* * *

A week later, he wakes up bright and early on the weekend, two containers of cookies nervously clenched in his sweaty palms, and he has to hope that he can discreetly wipe them off so his new neighbors don’t feel it when he hands them over. Beforehand, he walks down the hall to the right to Annie and Hitch’s apartment. He doesn’t bother knocking, just sets them down in front of the door and sends a text her way, walking the other direction again as he goes. He hears the door open and shut faster than he thought was humanly possible, and sure enough, the cookies are gone when he takes a glance back. He snorts softly to himself.

But then he’s in front of the door. Apartment number 263. He doesn’t even remember who lived here last, or if maybe it had been empty for awhile now, but it actually sounds pretty quiet in there. Maybe he can hear the sound of running water if he really tries.

He feels way more nervous than he thinks he should be. Relax, he scolds himself. It’s just a housewarming gift, after all. Nothing more. There’s nothing weird about it.

Despite his desire for friendships, he is admittedly not the best at starting them. The only reason he had Hitch and Annie was because Hitch dragged him into her apartment and shoved a wine cooler into his hand the first night he moved in and then cried about the problems she was having with her boyfriend. Admittedly, it was apparently an effective method considering he’s been good friends with them for months, but he was not bold enough to try that with his new neighbors. He’s barely even bold enough for this.

He figures he should probably stop standing around like a creep because it just made things worse. So, taking a deep breath, he raps on the front door three times exactly, attempting to be as firm as possible about it.

And then it’s the waiting game, because whoever is in there is not close enough to the door to open it within seconds. That, or they’re just ignoring him, which would be fair enough because Armin isn’t ever too keen on answering the door when he doesn’t know who is on the other side of it. Still, the moments of silence are enough to make his thoughts start to spiral, and he’s highly debating running away as fast as possible when he finally hears the lock click and the knob turn, and then he is looking at his new neighbor. His new, barely-clothed neighbor.

He's tall, has long-brown hair, green eyes, but most jarringly, he’s shirtless. Actually, it doesn’t even look like he’s wearing pants either. There’s a towel wrapped firmly around his face that he’s clutching at with one hand and his hair is dripping water onto his neck. Armin realizes very suddenly that it was a bad time, that the running water sound he had heard was the shower, because of course people shower in the morning.

“Oh,” the other man says, eyes moving up and down Armin’s form (which makes him feel incredibly self-conscious, because this guy has a full six-pack of abs on display) before confusion fully rises on his face. “You’re not Mikasa.”

Armin doesn’t know who Mikasa is. He doesn’t even have the cognitive ability at the moment to think about who Mikasa may be, because he’s now incredibly aware of the fact that he has been single for a long time and this guy is _hot_. There’s water droplets on his abs, and the dark part of Armin’s brain is desperately wishing he could lick them. He has to force the thought away because he can already feel the blush rising up his neck and into his cheeks, and he shows the redness easily. The hallway is so silent a pin could drop, so he forces himself to even out his breath as much as possible.

It’s been silent for more than what’s comfortable (though really, comfortable was out the window when someone looking like that answered the door), so he speaks, words tumbling out of his mouth in a whirl. He had a whole introduction rehearsed— a nice, sweet smile, saying his name, maybe shaking his neighbor’s hand, telling him the apartment he lived in so they could return his dishware, and then heading back home with no harm done. What comes out, however, is, “Are you allergic to peanuts?”

“Um,” the guy says, and he tilts his head to the side in confusion, because that’s certainly not anyone’s typical conversation starter. “No, I’m not, actually.”

“Great!” Armin squeaks out, shoving the glass container into his one free hand. It’s a miracle the container doesn’t slip and fall. “They’re peanut butter. For moving into the building, you know. Like, welcome to the building, is what I mean to say. Um.” Armin nervously glances down again and realizes there’s no good place to place his look, because either he’s staring right into the other man’s eyes or he’s getting a good shot of his pectorals or _lower_ , and his brain short-circuits.

“Hope you like them. Um. See you later! Thanks!”

He can hear the other man call out for him to wait, but the blood is rushing in his head and, he fears, downward. He doesn’t even register that he didn’t give his apartment number to return the dish. Not even a name. Fuck, he didn’t even ask for the other person’s name. He just fumbles with his keys and slams the door behind him when he finally gets into his apartment, slumping down the door. Then, he presses his face into his hands and groans.

Well. So much for not looking like a fool, he thinks.

* * *

"Hey, sorry I took so long," Mikasa chimes as she walks through the front door, wiping at her forehead slightly but otherwise seeming entirely unaffected by the run she went on. "Did you already take a shower?"

When she glances over at the dining room table, though, she frowned. Eren is chewing thoughtfully on a cookie, eyes spaced out. She didn't make cookies, and Eren certainly can't bake, so her curiosity piques slightly. "Where'd those come from?" She doesn't typically eat sweets, but it's a kind gesture, and peanut butter cookies are one of Eren's favorites.

"Neighbor dropped by," Eren says, looking entirely less enthused than Mikasa would have expected him to be considering the situation.

"That's nice of them. Hope you didn't scare them off," she says. Eren twitches, and she pauses, gaze steeling slightly. "Eren."

"I might have answered the door without a shirt on. Or any clothes, actually. On accident. Thought it was you, or something."

"...Eren."

"Yeah," he says. He's not someone who is typically embarrassed, but something about the mystery neighbor must have really gotten to him, Mikasa thinks. He just takes another bite of another cookie, the dish looking suspiciously empty for something that was just brought over.


End file.
